


Heaven's Angels

by Kivea



Series: Stenny Week [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, First Meetings, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27149044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivea/pseuds/Kivea
Summary: Stan lived in a small inner city apartment with his best friend. He worked a repetitive job at a supermarket. His freetime was divided between sleeping and busking on streets, subways, parks, anywhere he could get.One night he's invited to cover for someone at some hipster bar he hadn't played at in weeks that doesn't fit his aesthetic. There, he meets a handsome blonde with dazzling blue eyes, who keeps his face covered.
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Series: Stenny Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977991
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	Heaven's Angels

Life was...not exactly what he hoped it would be, by the time he was twenty-five. 

Stan lived in a small apartment, with his best friend. He was busy all the time, doing some intern-thing and some local lab and spent his time at home either eating or sleeping and going through the motions of appearing sociable. Stan felt too guilty to force conversation with him most of the time, and on more than one occasion had to wake him up on the couch and half carry him to his bed. 

He worked in a supermarket, putting food through scanners and stocking shelves. It paid better than some other jobs he’d gone through after finishing high-school and following his best friend across the country, one with determination to get into medical research and development, and the other with a guitar and a passion for his music. It was... 

It was repetitive. Sometimes lying in bed at night he could hear the _beep, beep, beep_ of the checkout scanner going off in the back of his mind. It reminded him of when his mom would tell him to count sheep when he couldn’t sleep, except now he was counting groceries. 

Repetitive. Robotic. 

Sometimes he thought maybe he was being a little dramatic. It wasn’t all bad. During the week sometimes his and his best friend’s schedules would sync up and they would find themselves with a whole day off together to do _absolutely nothing_ productive, or go out and do something that wasn’t just sitting around in the same spaces as every other day. They would flip flop between attempting to catch up on TV shows together on the couch with ice-cream and beer from dawn to dusk, and going out exploring somewhere and climbing rocks and winding up in places they probably shouldn’t. 

It was nice. He didn’t regret following Kyle across the country, he never could. But sometimes it was hard. 

When they first arrived, he fought tooth and nail to get busking slots anywhere he could. On the high-street, in subways, parks. When he wasn’t working or spending time with Kyle, he was playing an acoustic guitar outside. There was an authenticity to it that he loved. He liked to get lost in the music. 

It took a long time, and he worked hard, but eventually he saved up enough for equipment for the house. He could make things on his own, and publish them online. It was never very big, but... 

It was better than nothing. 

That’s what Kyle told him, in his darker moments, when he was struggling fighting his own brain. 

_It’s better than nothing. Once, you had nothing. Now you’ve made something._

He was right, but sometimes it was hard to believe when all he could hear was the _beep, beep, beep_ over the sound of his own music. 

\--

It was his first time playing somewhere he’d been invited. Some hipster bar with an open mic night he played at once, who sent him a message weeks later. Owner remembered him, apparently, and their regular was sick. 

He had a feeling he wasn’t the first person they’d contacted. Mostly because he knew his aesthetic didn’t really fit theirs, but... 

He asked if they needed him to play anything specific. They made a couple of requests. He took it. 

He rehearsed as soon as he had a date – which wasn’t very long, considering they gave him about three days' notice. Kyle couldn’t get the time off on that short notice, so he was on his own. 

The redhead did make him breakfast for when he woke up at midday. It had gone cold, but he didn’t mind. The thought was enough. 

Before he knew it, he was walking into the bar at the time they’d requested, seeing staff setting up the place as he stood there awkwardly not quite knowing where he needed to be. 

“Hey, you’re Stan, right?” a woman asked with wide brown eyes and tight blonde curls tied into a ponytail. She spoke quickly. She looked a little frazzled. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

“Great! Great, thanks for doing this, on short notice for us – follow me – I know it probably seemed like it came out of the blue.” 

She spoke with snapping hand movements as she rushed him to the stage. 

“But I am really thankful – here, you can set up here – that you were able to come in even though we gave you like, no warning – yeah, no, that’s fine, you can just put your stuff in the corner it’ll be safe – the main guy we use, he’s usually so reliable so I couldn’t really be mad that he was sick. Do you want a drink?” 

The question caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah, sure. Just some water would be great?” 

“Fab. I’ll go grab you some!” 

She was gone. 

She didn’t reappear. He ended up asking someone else, some weird goth looking kid who was younger than the frazzled blonde had been that Stan felt was much more his speed. Literally, because he moved slow like this was all so beneath him but at least he didn’t talk a mile a minute. 

The kid rolled his eyes but did actually get him some water, so there was that. The kid also told him all the useful stuff that he claimed ‘Hipster-Barbie’ probably didn’t. But, she didn’t, so he wasn’t wrong. 

He knew when to start, not to expect much attention, that he would be similar to background noise for a lot of their customers. That he could kind of get away with a lot. That if he wanted a break that was fine. To take a short break between songs, because the kid had seen plenty of people burst through their whole roster of songs before running out when they still had thirty minutes left. 

It was helpful. 

He was nervous, but he’d asked the kid if he was okay to start before it was busy to get into it and not get stage fright, and the response had been yes. 

So, as soon as the doors were open, he began. He didn’t even wait for people to start entering. 

Because once he was playing, everything else kind of faded into the background. He was there with his guitar and his music and he was playing, and sure most of the songs were pretty generic things that he wouldn’t normally play but he didn’t _care_. For him, music was music, no matter what it looked like, and he loved it all. 

He noticed it getting busier, occasionally people would clap when he finished a song and paused to take a drink of his water, and he would always acknowledge it with a nod and a raise of his glass that would be returned. The atmosphere was nice and chill, and the noise of the bar around him put him at ease. Felt him feel a little less like he was in the spotlight. Eased him into it. 

It was different to playing outside in a park where people would pass and he felt a little like part of the background except for his regulars who would stop and watch him and the kids who would dance. He kind of liked both. 

The man didn’t approach him until he had finished taking his break. 

He returned from the toilet to see someone sat on the stage, legs over the edge. It wasn’t tall, the guy could still touch the floor happily, and he had two glasses next to him; one already drank from and one fresh. He had blonde hair that poked through the orange hood surrounding his head and a mask covering his mouth and nose. 

“Hey, Stan Marsh, right?” he stood as Stan approached, looking up with blue eyes that smiled at him. “I got you a drink.” 

“Thanks,” Stan took the glass that was still on the stage, untouched. “I appreciate it, dude.” 

“No worries. You’re pretty good, y’know?” 

He gave a laugh, feeling that familiar rush of pride at a compliment. “Thanks, I – uh – I didn’t have much time to prepare.” 

“Yeah, Bebe mentioned. Said she only asked you three days ago. You learnt all them songs in three days?” 

“Not all of them.” 

“They’re not your usual though, are they?” 

Stan shuffled his weight from foot to foot. “Not...really, no. Am I that obvious?” 

The blonde laughed, melodic in a way that captured Stan’s attention. “To me, yeah. You’ve not got long left, do you?” 

“Half an hour, I think.” 

“When you’re done you should join me,” the blonde gestured over his shoulder to a free table that was tucked off to the side of the stage. “If you ain’t got plans?” 

His first response was to decline, but... 

He didn’t have plans, and there was this strange blonde man who’d bought him a drink and had baby blue eyes that glittered with the string lights that decorated the place, and Stan thought he might be a fool if he declined. 

“Sure. I’ll get the next round of drinks.” 

“Cool,” the blue eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile. “See you in a bit.” 

He understood what the goth kid had meant, when he had advised to leave a break between songs. If he hadn’t he was pretty sure he would’ve finished early. As it was by the time he got to the last ten minutes, he was running short. The covers he’d been playing were all dried up. 

Looking around the bar, at the jovial and louder patrons, he decided everyone was drunk enough they probably didn’t care anymore. 

When he started his final song, he caught the blonde woman’s eyes across the bar, who was watching him with the goth kid, the former with a smile on her face as the tension in her shoulders dropped, and the latter with a nod of approval at his choice of abandoning the covers. 

His final song was all his own, and he enjoyed every second of it. 

He approached the bar when he was done. The blonde met him at the counter, her hair even less composed than earlier, but she looked happy. 

“That was really good, thanks so much. What can I get you? It’s on the house.” 

“Oh, uh, I actually came for two,” he glanced over his shoulder, seeing the lone blonde with the hood and the mask still sitting at his table, blue eyes pinned to him. “That guy, he got me a drink earlier and invited me to hang out once my set was over. I figured I’d get him one back.” 

“Oh!” her brown eyes were wide once again when he looked back at her. “That’s - he’s a regular, I know what he drinks. I’ll just charge you for his drink, okay?” 

“Sure.” 

He ended up getting two of the same, picking up the glasses and carrying them over to where the mystery man sat. He was stopped by a couple of drunk people on the way who complimented him on his performance, leaving him pink in the cheeks by the time he sat down at the blonde’s table. 

The blue eyes were twinkling. “Not used to being in the spotlight?” 

“Not in a place like this,” Stan admitted. “Usually I’m busking, not...” 

“Pandering to drunks?” 

“Yeah, honestly.” 

The blonde laughed. “It’s alright. That last one, who was that?” 

Stan tried not to feel too bashful as he answered. “That was mine. I ran out of covers.” 

Blue eyes widened a fraction, and the man leant forward on the table. “I was hoping you’d have one of your own to play.” 

There was something familiar about the man. He couldn’t place it exactly; maybe he was a regular at Stan’s supermarket, but there was something shockingly familiar. Like he’d seen those eyes somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it. 

Maybe if he didn’t have half of his face covered, Stan might’ve been able to place it. 

“You look really familiar,” Stan admitted. 

“I’m a regular here,” the blonde explained. “We’ve probably bumped into each other before.” 

“Maybe. I don’t come here very often.” 

“I’ve got a memorable face. It’s because I’m so handsome,” the blonde winked at him. “Though, you’re quite memorable too, with a voice like that.” 

Stan flushed and gave a laugh of surprise. “I dunno about that. But, uh, you are handsome, yeah.” 

_Shit_. What kind of pathetic attempt at flirting was that?? 

He needed to get out more, and interact with people who weren’t _Kyle_. 

“Hey, I don’t have much time left, but,” the blonde reached into his jacket and withdrew a plain brown wallet. “I want you to have this.” 

He slid a business card across the table. Stan blanched once he read the name that was across it. 

“Give the number a call and tell them your name sometime tomorrow. I’ll let her know to expect you.” 

“Wait a sec,” Stan felt his heartbeat begin to pick up as he looked at the man across the table who was downing the rest of his drink. “This is – this is for Park Record’s. This is a-?” 

“You’re really talented, dude,” the blonde cut him off, blue eyes not meeting his as the man stood. “I’ll see you there.” 

A freckled hand landed on his shoulder to give it a light squeeze before the mystery man was gone, leaving Stan with a half-finished drink and a business card staring back at him. 

\--

Kyle was all the hype he needed. As soon as he told the redhead what had happened the night before, the smile of encouragement was blown away by shock and enthusiasm. 

“What are you waiting for?!" Kyle was pulling and prodding at him to find his wallet. “Have you rang yet?” 

“No, dude, I’ve practically just woke up. Besides, maybe he hasn’t told her yet. I don’t wanna ring too early.” 

“Are you kidding?! Just ring back later if she doesn’t know you yet.” 

“Dude, I don’t wanna be like...desperate.” 

“I’m desperate! I want to know what she’s going to say!” 

He managed to convince Kyle to wait for him to at least have had brunch and a shower. It wound up with the pair of them sat on their couch with their knees pressed together, the card balancing between them, as Stan plugged the number for one _Wendy Testaburger_ into his phone. 

It rang. It rang for a little while. His knee began to bounce nervously. He prepared himself to go to voicemail. 

_“Hello, this is Wendy Testaburger?”_

His brain went blank. He made a few attempts at words. 

_“Hello?”_

Kyle elbowed him. Hard. 

“Hello!” his voice was pitchy. He cleared his throat to try control his speech. “Hi, uh, my name’s Stan Marsh. I was given your business card yesterday and told to call you?” 

_“Ah, Stan, yes, I’ve been expecting you,”_ her voice was soft, had a coaxing tone that put him at ease. _“Kenny mentioned you last night. When do you think you’ll be able to come in?”_

“Uh, come in?” 

_“Yes, to do some recording? We’d like to test you voices together, see if you gel as well as Kenny thinks you will.”_

He looked across at Kyle, who raised a brow at him and gestured for him to keep going. 

“I - today’s my last day before I’m back at work, so-?” 

_“Today’s perfect,”_ the woman announced. _“Can I expect you around four o’clock?”_

“Four o’clock today?” 

_“Yes, if that’s not too short notice?”_

“No, no that’s fine. I can do that.” 

_“Brilliant. The address is on the card. We’ll see you soon, Stan.”_

“Right, yeah, see you soon.” 

She hung up. 

He stared at Kyle, who’s face broke into a grin. 

“I’m...going in today,” Stan spoke slowly. Like he was trying to ease himself into it. “To do some recording.” 

“Oh my god,” Kyle erupted, throwing his arms around Stan and pulling him into a tight hug. “Dude, you’re going to a recording studio!” 

“I can’t believe it,” Stan muttered. “I’m...” 

“You did it!” 

_He did it._

\--

Kyle went to work before he started, leaving Stan to make his own way there. He stood in front of the heavy metal door and sucked in a breath, guitar on his back, keeping him weighed to the ground. He rang the buzzer. 

It wasn’t Wendy who invited him in. Instead it was a tall girl with choppy red hair that reached her shoulders who lead him through the building towards a recording booth. She didn’t introduce herself, but she knew who he was, and she had a deeper voice than who he spoke to on the phone. She opened the door to the booth for him and let him in. 

He was there on his own, looking around, holding onto his guitar strap. 

“Thanks for joining us, Stan.” 

He recognised it was Wendy’s voice that came through the speakers in the room, and spun round to see her sat on the opposite side of the glass panel, a plethora of equipment at her fingertips. She had long black hair and icy blue eyes, a warm smile on her face. 

“Sure.” 

“You wanna talk into the mic,” she advised, tapping the glass to point where there was a mic just behind him. 

He felt far too awkward and out of place as he tripped over his own feet to get to it. “Sorry.” 

“No problem. You won’t be waiting long.” 

She took her finger off the button she’d been holding down, and it went quiet. He could see her speaking as the redhead who had brought him there joined her at the equipment, but he couldn’t hear them. 

Standing in a recording studio was the dream, but…it had begun to seem a little like a pipedream. Now that he was standing there staring at the glass that held these two women who worked here, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop shaking long enough to sing with a steady voice. 

“Uh, is there…anything you need me to do?” he asked into the mic. 

Wendy smiled as she pressed the button again and spoke into a mic. “Don’t worry about it, Stan. We’re just waiting on our big star, then we’ll be able to get this show on the road.” 

“No, I think maybe you can,” another one said, red hair spilling over her shoulders as she leant forward into the mic. “Can you play something for us? Just so we get a feel of your sound.” 

“That’s a good idea!” Wendy chirped. “Oh, oh! He said when he found you, you were singing Heaven’s Angels? Do you mind singing it for us?” 

He shrugged lowly as he shuffled the headphones on his head. “Sure, yeah. I can – I can do that.” 

“You don’t need to be so nervous, Stan,” she assured with a gentle smile, as the redhead next to her began to work on setting up the music. “Take a deep breath and shut your eyes. If you need to just listen to the music at first, you can. Join in whenever you’re ready.” 

He did as she suggested, holding his breath as he allowed his eyes to slip shut and focused on himself. 

The song was a familiar one. It was a choice he’d had from the night before, a little more him than their requests had been. A comfortable middle ground. He opened his eyes eventually, looking across to see the two women on the other side of the glass watching him with approval. 

_He was really here._

The redhead ended the song early, leaning for the mic again to speak. “You sound great.” 

“Thanks.” 

“You know who we’re waiting for, right?” 

Stan faltered. “I...the guy I met last night, yeah?” 

Wendy’s brows pinched and the smile disappeared. She waved her companions hand away as she took control of the mic. “Wait, you don’t know?” 

“I mean, you said on the phone his name was Kenny?” 

The redheaded woman rolled his eyes and said something that Stan couldn’t hear, but looked suspiciously like ‘told you so’. 

Wendy appeared to swear back in response before turning her attention to Stan. “I’m sorry, Stan, he’s such a – I'll tell you now, to avoid you getting starstruck, or whatever. You know our label, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Stan nodded. “I know a lot of the local labels. You tend to produce a lot of smaller artists.” 

“Except for three,” Wendy informed. 

“Yeah, The Vamps, Devil’s Son, and...” 

_And..._

The cogs began to turn. 

Familiar, sparkling blue eyes and a melodic laugh. A face hidden enough it was hard to place him. Someone who would just carry this woman’s business card around in a plain, unassuming wallet. 

“Princess...” 

“Yes,” Wendy confirmed. “Princess, or Kenny. He’s-!” 

She didn’t finish her words before the door opened, and the man from the night before walked in. 

Stan didn’t care how gobsmacked he looked as he stared across at the man with the orange hood and face mask, glittering blue eyes crinkled with a smile. 

Wendy’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Kenny, when in the hell were you going to tell this poor kid who you were?!” 

Blue eyes flittered from where Stan stood, to the woman who was now standing on the other side of the glass as the door shut behind him. He raised a hand, pulling back the facemask to reveal the rest of his face; freckled cheeks, wide set jaw, a gap tooth and a sheepish smile. 

“I guess the cat’s out the bag, huh?” blue eyes were back on him and Stan felt his heart get caught in his throat. “Hey, again. Name’s Kenny.” 

He thought he might faint. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know that this doesn't fit what they actually intended from the picture, but I focused a lot more on the keyboard than on the robot. 
> 
> I prefer scifi, and I would've loved to do a scifi for Stenny week, but this was what my brain decided it wanted to write.


End file.
